


Space Kilts...?

by ShinyMischief



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Platonic bed sharing, Slow Burn, Space Kilts, This all started in the book aisle at walmart, being really underwhelmed by impressive achievements, enjoy, eventually, forest fire in the rain, like medium slowburn, older Pidge, pidge is a bad romance novel writer, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:06:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyMischief/pseuds/ShinyMischief
Summary: Katie "Pidge" Holt, bio-mechanical engineer and secretly author of the hottest romance novel series.  About to publish her new, gay spin-off she's searching for cover models. Will she find them in college roommates Lance and Keith?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first mess to post on Ao3... sorry. This thing is pretty much a conglomerate of head cannons and bad ideas coupled with a bad trope and inspired by the cover of a cheesy romance novel I spotted in Walmart. I don't expect many people to be interested in this past the first few paragraphs but... updates will be as frequently as I can manage.

Keith practically kicked open the door of his apartment, hands too encumbered with the groceries he'd picked up after his double shift at the local gas station to bother opening it normally.  
"Lance! I know you aren't asleep! Get the rest of the groceries out of the hall or I'll burn your bookshelf!" Keith yelled for his roommate.  
The caramel skinned man stuck his head out of his bedroom door, face adorned with a look of irritation and a peel-off face mask. His frowned deeper when he saw the fresh shoe mark on the front door.  
"What the fuck Keith! It's 11 at night! And the fucking door!"  
"My hands were full..." Keith shrugged as he walked into the living room-kitchenette ensemble, setting his load of groceries on the battered coffee table. The living room held only that, a couch that looked worse for wear, and a flat screen television that looked quite a few models behind. It wasn't much, but for a college kid and his drop-out, cryptid hunting roommate it was a luxury.  
Lance huffed his displeasure and stepped out of his room to grab the rest of the groceries. He sometimes wondered why he and Keith even still roomed together. It made sense while Keith was taking classes at the same Community College as Lance, but after the raven-haired pain-in-the-ass dropped out in favor of working and hunting the creatures of folklore it really didn't anymore. Though, it was an advantage that Keith had a car, Lance couldn't deny that.  
"Pinche carbón destruyendo la maldita puerta. Joder... Hice el depósito del seguridad!" Lance grumbled under his breath as he breezed past Keith into the kitchenette. "Why didn't you call me when you parked?" 

Silence. Lance's eyebrows creased as he turned around to the empty living room. "Hey! Keith! I know you're tired, man, but I need help putting these up." Still silent, he must've gone back to the car for something. Lance gave an over dramatic sigh and turned back to the bags, unpacking the groceries, and sorting them into different piles. He hummed as he worked, some upbeat tune, no doubt a song from his childhood with a Latin beat. He frowned slightly when he finished the bags he'd carried in from the hall and Keith still hadn't made his reappearance. Just to make sure that Keith hadn't gone ahead to sleep, Lance stuck his head into his roommate’s bedroom.  
The rumpled red bed was still empty as it had been since eight that morning. Then the front door closed, and Lance hurriedly closed the door, he wasn't afraid of Keith getting angry, he chilled in the mullet boys room all the time for X-Files marathons. He just wasn't allowed in the space alone anymore. It wasn't his fault that Keith's "evidence of a space ship crash" looked more like a dirty, mangled beer can than part of a U.F.O.  
Lance looked down the hall at Keith whose hands were behind his back, obviously hiding something. The brown-haired boy squinted suspiciously.  
"If you spent your half of the rent on another set of night-vision goggles or a Bigfoot call I will murder you."  
Keith just huffed in annoyance. "It was twice Lance! Let it go!" He then pulled the object from behind his back, marching to Lance and setting it on top of his brown hair. "It's actually a present for you, Loser. I don't know why you even read those cringey things."  
Lance waited as Keith breezed past him, presumably to finish putting up the groceries, before snatching the paperback off of his head. His eyes blew wide at the cover. A familiar male model leaned against the wall, cuffs around his wrists, one metal and one flesh. The man's face held a scar across the bridge of his nose, his normally well-kept hair mused in perfect sex-hair fashion. Clad only in a low-slung kilt, the deep gray eyes smoldered in a way that spoke volumes. The title written terribly cliché font simply said 'Star Crossed Gladiator' a smaller subtitle stating that it was book five of the Galaxy Garrison series. Lance squealed happily, practically running to the living room.  
"How did you get it? I thought the store sold out!"  
Keith looked away from the groceries and shrugged. "I pre-ordered one for you since you bought me a tripod for Christmas."  
Lance didn't want to wait to read it, he'd already waited three months since book four came out. He opened the book, holding it expertly in one hand as the other moved things from the pile on the counter to their place in the pantry. He didn't need to look to see what he was putting up, the shape of things in his hands and his meticulously organized shelves were perfect for this scenario. His abuelita would’ve been proud.  
Keith looked over, wondering why his rambunctious roommate wasn't humming, or dancing, or even talking as he worked. When he saw Lance completely absorbed by the bad romance novel he rolled his eyes.  
"Why is the guy always in a kilt? I thought the plot took place in outer space?" Keith couldn't help but ask, the whole cover was perplexing. Always the same model in a man-skirt. Lance had every book by the author, Pidge Gunderson. It seemed to be a running theme for their works too.  
"It's the perfect space clothing Keith! Not all aliens can wear pants! So, when you have slave gladiators you keep kilts so that no matter how many legs they have you can give them a general piece of clothing!" Lance put away the last few things for the pantry before grabbing what had been bought for his room and scurrying off. His eyes didn't leave the book the whole way. If they had, he might've seen Keith smiling softly as he walked away, amused by Lance's odd obsession.  
______________________________________________________________________________  
"Doctor Holt." A squat man in a lab coat motioned from the doorway of Katie's lab. The bespectacled woman glared up from her work with a prosthetic foot, carefully testing each minuscule wire. She stood and lifted her goggles from where they sat over her glasses to rest on her forehead.  
"You better have a good reason for bothering me. Do you know how hard it is to keep track of those nerve attachments?"  
The man sputtered, intimidated by the petite woman. "You got a letter from the Nobel foundation."  
He held out the envelope, looking ready to bolt as Katie strutted over, combat boots thudding loudly against the polished linoleum. She had never really done anything to intimidate anyone, but the way she carried herself was enough to make the faint of heart cringe.  
She took the envelope and tore it open, skimming it quickly before she handed it back. "Put it on my desk please Doctor Mathers."  
"If I may... it wouldn't happen to be a nomination for your biomechanical engineering, would it?" The squat man looked sheepish, and slightly jealous. He had been working on prosthetics that were more than just for looks for years. Then, suddenly the lab was handed over to this girl, a newly graduated student, who'd managed to get two doctorates at the same time. At just 25, Katie Holt was the top engineer and researcher in prosthetics. She had made break-throughs only dreamt of in sci-fi novels.  
"It is..." She waved her hand dismissively, returning to her work. She frowned as she tested more of the small thread like wires. The foot she was working on was a new prototype for her brother.  
Matt Holt had gone into the army a happy, whole young man and had returned missing a leg and scarred. Katie had thrown herself into engineering prosthetics that could feel, that were as good as or better than the original flesh limbs. She had succeeded too, except skin sensations were hard to mimic. That was her current project.  
Dr. Mathers squinted at her lack of excitement and left the lab. Not ten minutes later did a stocky, dark skinned man come thundering in the room. He ran right for Katie and hoisted her up in an enthusiastic hug.  
"HUNK!" Katie struggled against the vice like hug.  
"YOU DID IT YOU GOT NOMINATED FOR A NOBEL PRIZE!" Hunk was basically sobbing happy tears as he continued to crush his long-time friend and college roommate in a death grip embrace. Katie continued to struggled, eventually slipping away from her astrophysicist friend.  
"Hunk, calm down. It's not that big of a deal. I'm more worried about the book tour next week." Katie shuttered slightly at the thought of facing the white moms who ate up her books.  
The Galaxy Garrison series had started as a joke. Hunk had made an offhand comment that if she wrote a book he would read it and be her editor. Taking it as a challenge, Katie had poured herself into writing the sappiest, most horrible romance novel she could manage. She was aiming to out-bad the novels whose covers were usually adorned by an overly muscular, long haired Nicolas Cage look alike sitting on a horse half naked. What she had written had surpassed even her own expectations. In fact, the book had been so bad it was good. Katie had surprised herself by actually enjoying penning the absolutely beautiful piece of garbage.  
When Hunk read it he ran it through several plagiarism detection programs, determined to prove that Katie hadn't written it. When that failed, he sent it in to a publishing company behind her back. When the letter holding the details of the publishing deal arrived she was deadpan confused. Apparently, in her stead, Hunk had worked out a deal with a 10% starting royalty on paperback. He had also requested that the author, 'Pidge Gunderson', Katie's nickname from online gaming, oversee cover design.  
When she showed up at Hunk's house with the envelope clutched in a death grip, he just smiled and invited her in for breakfast, ready to withstand the tongue lashing he was going to receive and to help calm Katie down from her over-thinking induced panic attack. That had been two years and five books ago. Now with the sixth book’s manuscript approved and a new project sitting in a drawer of her desk Katie, no, Pidge, felt like her life was taking a strange turn. Nobel Prize nominated Biomechanical engineer by day, New York Times bestselling author by night.  
She shook her head, taking her goggles off again and looking at her watch, only 10 minutes left before the lab shut down for the day.  
"Hunk, I finished the spinoff manuscript and I need you to read it over. I asked Shiro and Matt if they'd model together for the cover. They said no of course." Pidge scoffed sarcastically. "Said they couldn't be that close half naked."  
Hunk nodded thoughtfully and shrugged. "Maybe you'll find models at the book signing."  
"We both know there's nothing but middle aged moms at those things!"  
"You never know Pidge; your gay cover boys could be out there just waiting to meet you.”  
______________________________________________________________________________  
"C'moooooonnnn Keeeeiiiitttthhh!"  
"Don't you have class today?"  
"This is more important!"  
Lance was laid across the foot of Keith's bed, giving his roommate puppy dog eyes to make even actual puppies jealous. His lip pouted out, he continued to beg.  
"Pidge Gunderson is going to be in town today! The fact they're even coming to this dirty city is a miracle! You have to take me! Please please please please..."  
The string of please’s continued as Keith ran a hand through his bed head, squinting at Lance in annoyance as the brunette continued to act like a five-year-old. Keith sighed heavily and let go of his blanket, letting it fall away from his shirtless chest before he started to get out of bed.  
"What time is this book signing thing?"  
Lance perked up immediately, grinning so brightly Keith thought it might blind him. “10am at the Half-Price Books downtown!” Lance looked at his phone, eyes widening before he scampered out of Keith’s room and into his own across the hall. “I have to get ready!”  
Keith glanced at his own phone, wincing as the screen blinded his still Sleep-heavy eyes. The time read 7:30 A.M. Lance had woken him up, two and a half hours, before an event, that was only a twenty-minute drive away. Keith flopped back down onto his bed from his sitting position, glaring through his now-open door to Lance’s bedroom. There was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep now. The raven-haired man hefted himself out of bed, not bothering to put on a shirt, and made his way to the kitchenette.  
He opened the pantry, raking his eyes over the new groceries, trying to decide what to eat. Cereal? Unappealing. Oatmeal? Not today. Keith eyed the container of flour. It had been a while since he last baked but, he always did enjoy muffins.  
Thirty minutes later Lance wandered into the living room, hair in a towel and moisturizer on his face. He had followed the smell of lemons and blueberries and found Keith in the kitchen, flour streaked through his bed-ruffled mullet. Three bowls of muffin batter sat on the cabinet. Lance had been worried that this is what he would find. Keith was an excellent baker, in fact, Lance often found himself putting on little bits of weight whenever Keith baked. The problem was that once Keith started baking, he couldn’t stop.  
“Don’t you dare grab another bowl, Kogane.” Lance made his way to the kitchen, taking the rubber spatula from Keith’s hand. “We don’t need any more muffins.”  
Keith glared at Lance a little, upset that his therapeutic activity had been interrupted. He jumped slightly as his phone started ringing, playing the chorus of “The Black Parade.” Lance physically cringed but said nothing, used to the song at this point.  
Keith answered the phone, faking a sore throat perfectly. “No boss…. Can’t come in today… I’ve got a fever.” His gravelly voice acting was flawless, Lance was almost jealous of the skill. Keith croaked out a few “Yes, Sir, No, Sir, and Sorry’s” before hanging up.  
“Let me finish this batch and then I’ll get dressed so we can go to this… thing and I can enjoy the rest of my day off…” Keith looked thoughtful for a moment before grinning at Lance. “And you owe me lunch.”


End file.
